Page 36

Hank and Gabe are dressed in civilian clothes—dark jeans stretched across powerful thighs and black T-shirts that cling to broad chests under weather-worn leather jackets—but there’s nothing civilian about the predatory intensity burning in their eyes or the rigid set of their shoulders.

Power radiates from them in visible waves, their bodies coiled with a controlled violence that makes my skin prickle with awareness.

Hank’s jaw tightens as our gazes lock, a muscle ticking beneath stubbled skin, while Gabe’s mouth curves into something too sharp to be called a smile.

The space between us seems to compress, oxygen thinning as they step into the room with the grace of men accustomed to moving as one.

My heart stutters. Relief and something hungrier flood my system.

“Ally,” Hank says, my name a command on his lips.

“You’re back,” I manage, the napkins slipping from my suddenly nerveless fingers .

“We are,” Gabe confirms, his eyes never leaving mine as he stalks forward. “And we’re leaving. Now.”

Without waiting for a response, he rounds the counter, sweeps me up, and tosses me over his shoulder. A startled laugh escapes me as the world turns upside down.

“Put me down!” I protest, though there’s no real force behind it. “I’m working!”

“Not anymore,” Hank says mildly, nodding to Malia. “We have business with her.”

“I bet you do.” Malia doesn’t even try to hide her delighted grin. “Take her away, boys. She’s all yours.”

“Always has been,” Gabe says, his arm a steel band around my thighs as he carries me toward the door. “Just on loan to you for a few days.”

“Be safe!” Malia calls after us. “Use protection!”

“Malia!” I yelp, my face burning as several lingering customers turn to stare.

Hank chuckles, holding the door open for Gabe and me. “We’ll take good care of her,” he assures Malia with a wink that melts my insides. Then his voice drops to a whisper. “No more protection, luv. Doc Summers gave the green light. We’re going bareback tonight if that’s good with you?”

My heart just about stops in a good kind of way.

And then we’re outside, the cool evening air a welcome relief for my heated skin. Gabe finally sets me on my feet beside a sleek black SUV, but his hands linger at my waist.

“Miss us?” he asks, his voice rough at the edges.

“Maybe a little,” I admit, trying for nonchalance despite the hammering of my heart.

“Only a little?” Hank steps closer, effectively boxing me between them. “We’ll have to fix that.”

The hunger in his gaze makes me shiver despite the lingering warmth of the day.

“Let’s go home,” Gabe says.

Home .

The word echoes through me, taking on new weight—not just a place. These two men have become my sanctuary.

“Yes, please,” I agree simply, letting Hank guide me into the backseat while Gabe slides behind the wheel.

When we get to the house, the sky is painted in dusky shades of violet and gold, the ocean stretching endlessly before us. The air is cooler now, the last remnants of sunlight glinting off the water.

Gabe unlocks the door, stepping inside first, while Hank lingers at my back, a solid, grounding presence.

“We’ll get dinner going,” Gabe says, shrugging off his jacket. “You take a minute to yourself, sweetheart.”

I pause, glancing between them. “You’re not going to put me to work?”

“We’re definitely going to put you to work.” Hank smirks, turning toward me, his fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path down my arm before he steps back.

“Take a moment for yourself.” His gaze drops, raking over me with quiet intent. “Rest if you need it. Decompress. Let yourself settle.”

Something in his tone makes my breath catch, my skin tingling in anticipation.

“For what?”

“For us.” Gabe’s grin is slow, wicked. “After dinner, you’re ours.”

Heat flares through me.

Hank steps past me toward the kitchen, but not before his fingers trail down my back, a teasing, possessive touch. “And we have very specific things in mind.”

A slow shiver rolls through me.

Every word. Every glance. Every touch.

It’s all a reminder—my new normal is this.

Sexuality laced into everything.

Promises wrapped in the simplest of words.

I swallow, trying for something resembling composure, but Gabe’s eyes track the movement, his smirk deepening like he knows exactly what’s going through my head.

“Better take that moment while you can, sweetheart,” he murmurs, heading into the kitchen. “You’re going to be busy tonight.”

And then they’re gone, leaving me standing there, my entire body humming with awareness.

I exhale, pressing my hands to my thighs, willing my pulse to calm down.

But it doesn’t.

There’s no coming down from this.

I linger for a moment, taking in the quiet hum of the house, the vast, open space of the living room, the way the walls of glass frame the restless waves beyond.

Rest if you need it. Decompress. Let yourself settle. Because after dinner… you’re ours.

Heat pools low in my stomach.

A moment to myself should be nice. Needed, even. But all I can think about is them—their hands on me, their mouths devouring me, their plans for tonight.

If they want me ready for them, I’ll be ready.

I head for the bathroom, stripping my clothes before the water starts. Steam curls around me as I step into the shower, the heat washing away the remnants of the day.

I take my time.

Shaving slow, careful strokes over my legs, over my thighs, leaving my skin silken-smooth.

Running my fingers over my body, knowing that soon, it won’t be my hands exploring me—it will be theirs.

I linger under the water longer than necessary, letting it soothe and awaken me simultaneously. When I finally step out, wrapping myself in a towel, my skin is flushed and humming with awareness.

I glance toward the bedroom, toward the dresser, toward Hank’s clothes.

A slow smile curls my lips.

Moments later, I pull one of Hank’s shirts over my head. I roll the sleeves up slightly, the hem brushing the tops of my thighs, covering just enough to tease.

No bra.

No panties.

Just bare. Theirs for the taking.

I run my fingers through my damp hair, glancing at my reflection.

Not made-up. Not dolled-up.

Just ready.

A cool breeze drifts in through the open balcony doors, carrying the scent of salt and sea.

And the faintest hint of smoke.

I smile.

They’re waiting.

I make my way toward the balcony, drawn to the flickering glow of the grill outside.

And then I see Hank.

He stands at the grill, biceps rippling beneath sun-bronzed skin as he turns the steaks. His faded T-shirt strains against the powerful expanse of his back, revealing the topography of muscle that shifts with every precise movement. His stance is effortless, deceptively casual, but there’s no mistaking the coiled power beneath it—the kind of strength forged through years of relentless training, pushing his body past thresholds where ordinary men would break.

Gabe is just beyond him, setting the table. The sharp cut of his jaw catches the amber glow of the patio lights, shadows playing in the hollow beneath his cheekbones. He moves differently—controlled, deliberate, like a predator conserving energy until the moment to strike. His body is leaner than Hank’s but no less deadly, the fluid grace in his movements speaking of violence held in perfect check. When he reaches across the table, I glimpse scarred knuckles, a warrior’s hands.

The air between them crackles with unspoken communication, the silent understanding of men who have faced death together and emerged victorious.

And yet, as I stand here, watching them, I don’t think about the men they’ve been trained to be—the warriors, the killers, the soldiers.

I think about the men they are .

Men who fight. Who save.

Who use their strength to take lives when necessary—and to protect the ones who matter.

Men who turn that same relentless focus toward making love, toward stripping me bare in every possible way and leaving me utterly wrecked in their arms.

Men who have already claimed me.

A slow warmth spreads through my chest, something more profound than attraction, something quieter than lust.

It’s not just the raw, primal draw of their bodies, though God knows that’s there. It’s how they devote themselves—fully, completely, without hesitation. To their work. To their team. To me.

I’m already falling in love.

Not in the all-consuming, desperate way I’ve felt attraction before.

This is slower. Heavier.

And as I watch them—Hank rolling his shoulders, muscles shifting as he flips the steak, Gabe adjusting the silverware with his usual sharp-eyed precision—I want to follow where they lead.

I step outside, leaning against the railing as I take them both in.

Gabe glances up first, catching me watching. His smirk is slow, knowing.

“You gonna keep staring, sweetheart, or you coming to eat?”

Hank huffs a quiet chuckle, plating the steaks. “Can’t blame her. We are a lot to take in.”

I shake my head, but my lips twitch. “Oh, I know that.”

Gabe laughs, shaking his head as he pulls out my chair. “Come on, Ally. Dinner first.” His gaze flickers with something darker. “Then we’ll see where the night takes us.”

I don’t argue.

I sit between them, feeling something shift—something deeper, something undeniable.

“This is nice,” I murmur, cutting into my steak.

Gabe smirks. “Good food, good view.” His gaze flicks to me. “ Great company.”

Hank clinks his beer bottle against mine. “Don’t get used to it, luv. We’re only being soft because you need it.”

“Do I?” I lift a brow, setting my fork down.

Then, without hesitation, I stand.

Their eyes track my every movement as I reach for the hem of my shirt, gripping it with steady fingers.

And then I pull it over my head.

The air is warm, carrying the salty tang of the ocean, the scent of charred steak still lingering on the breeze. The sky is an inky stretch above us, stars flickering like scattered embers. Below, waves crash against the rocky shore, a steady, relentless rhythm that seems to match the pulse thrumming through my veins.

I stretch lazily, basking in the glow of the meal, of the evening, of them.

And then I turn to Hank.

Gabe exhales a slow breath, his smirk vanishing, his eyes darkening.

Hank’s grip tightens around his beer, his jaw ticking.

I let them look.

Let them see.

Then, I step toward Hank, slow, deliberate, letting my body sway just enough to taunt.

“The steak was incredible.” I stop just in front of Hank.

The sun dips low, casting a warm, golden glow over the deck and the vast Pacific Ocean stretching behind him. The salt-kissed breeze teases my hair, adding a gentle, natural caress to the charged atmosphere.

“You don’t need to be soft with me, but you definitely deserve a reward.”